How Far We’ve Come

Finding My Own Christian Acceptance

by Chris Orrey (10 Minute Read)

My first memory of religion was when I was about 12 years old. I didn’t have many friends. A girl in the neighborhood invited me to play at her house. She had a mom and a dad and a brother and sister, all under one roof. My siblings lived in four different homes. Yes, I wanted to see her house, to be in it, to see what it felt like. My memory of Tammy’s home has faded, but the memory of her church has never left me.

I had been in their home a few times when Tammy’s father invited me to church with them. Church? Until that moment, I had never given the absence of religion in my life much thought. But no sooner had the question come out of his mouth when a thousand questions entered my mind. What is church like? Is God there? What is God like? Will I know what to do? Why don’t we go to church? Is it like the midnight mass Grandma Mary and Grandpa Russ goes to on Christmas Eve? Will God like me? I had a nervous excitement similar to my first bicycle rodeo in second grade. I wanted to do it, even felt compelled to do it, but was terrified of it at the same time.

I arrived at their home and welled up with shame when I compared my over-worn and faded brown corduroy pants, dirty white Keds and ruffle-front t-shirt to the Sunday best worn by Tammy and her family. My mom had successfully transitioned off of welfare and was working full-time, but new clothes were not in the budget. Tammy’s mom hesitated when she opened the door and saw me, confirming in my head my feeling of inferiority, but she quickly gave me a hug and told me that she was very glad I decided to join them. “I hope you love our church as much as we do,” she said with a smile.

Tammy’s father drove us to church in their spotless wood-paneled station wagon. Her mom sat up front, her siblings in the middle seat, and me and Tammy in the rear-facing seats in the back. Tammy, her mom and her sister wore light-colored dresses. Her dad and brother wore black pants, shiny black shoes and ties.

Still self-conscious of my own worn-thin clothing, my nervousness grew as we arrived in the parking lot full of cars. Nowhere did I see an older convertible Volkswagen bug like my mom’s car. The parking lot had station wagons like Tammy’s and large sedans like my grandparents’ Cadillac. I wished I had gone to church with my grandparents before now. Maybe if I had I would know what to do today, I thought. 

I followed Tammy’s family into church, hanging back just enough to watch them intently, to pattern my moves after theirs. Not too far back, though. I had to be sure people knew I wasn’t there alone. A fat man in a suit was just inside the door. Lines of people were waiting to say hello to him as they entered the church. His fingers were so fat that they enveloped his thin gold wedding band, and he sweated so much that he was constantly wiping his forehead with a handkerchief. Tammy’s dad introduced me. “Pastor Warren, this is Tammy’s little neighborhood friend, Chrissy.”

“Welcome to God’s house, young lady,” he said with a smile, his very large and sweaty hand enveloping mine as he shook it. He smiled at Tammy’s parents again, and I was pretty sure he was glad they brought me to God’s house. God’s house? I was old enough to know that God didn’t live there, but why did they call it God’s house? Did God visit? Did it count as God’s house because people prayed there? Pastor Warren’s warm welcome brought down my nerves a notch.

I followed Tammy’s family to a dark wooden bench in the middle of the church, being sure I was last in line so I could follow Tammy’s lead. By the time her family sat down, Tammy and I had little space left. Tammy sat and I hesitated. There wasn’t enough space to sit down without touching Tammy, and I didn’t want her to think I had a crush on her. I had crushes on many girls by then, the first being Susan Benson in 3^rd grade. Even if I did have a crush on Tammy, I wouldn’t want her to know it. And I certainly wouldn’t want her family to know it.

Tammy saw that I was still standing and grabbed my hand, pulling me down to the hard wooden bench. Our hips and legs touched. I leaned as far to the end of the bench as I could, hanging my right arm over the side. I didn’t look at Tammy and tried not to move, barely breathing as I tried to sink down into the wooden bench.

Church began with a song. I liked the song and could follow the words in the songbook, but I wasn’t a good singer so I just mouthed the words and kept my voice inside of myself. The song felt joyful and the words told us that God loves all of us. This made me very happy. God loves me, I thought. I liked church. I liked the colorful windows and high wooden ceiling and interesting smell. I began to hope I could come back with Tammy next Sunday, and maybe every Sunday. I smiled at Tammy’s mom and she returned the smile. Maybe Tammy’s family would make me their adopted daughter for Sundays, and bring me to church with them. Maybe I would learn about God and go to church with my grandparents for Christmas Eve mass.

After another song, a thin woman with black librarian glasses read from the bible. There were a lot of words, most of which I didn’t understand. Pastor Warren began talking about God and his flock. It took me well into the sermon to figure out that we were God’s flock, like sheep belonging to a caring and watchful sheepherder was the image that formed in my mind. Decades later I would reflect back and realize this moment had given me a glimpse of feeling like I belonged. This sense of belonging would dance into and out of my life over the years like a hummingbird visiting a yard, sure to soon depart.

Pastor Warren continued his sermon, telling us that God loves His children, even the sinners amongst us. Sinners? Everything felt so good so far. Why was he talking about sinners? I had only met a few sinners in my life. My little brother’s dad, who hit my mom and yelled at her to shut me up when I practiced my violin; my great grandma and her husband, who were always yelling at my brother Stephen, who lived with them, and grabbing his ear when they lost their patience with him; and my great aunt’s husband, who made me touch his private parts in the middle of the night when all the other kids were sleeping.

So God loved them, too? I guess that’s a good thing, I thought. I supposed that everyone should feel loved by God. Maybe then they wouldn’t be so mean to people.

Pastor Warren told us we should hate the sin, but love the sinner. I could never love the sinners I knew. They were just awful people and I couldn’t stand to be around them, let alone to love them.

My mind drifted from these scary “sinners” in my life and how much I tried to avoid them when I heard Pastor Warren say the word HOMOSEXUAL. The word snapped me out of my thoughts, my chest immediately feeling tight and warm. The constriction moved up from my chest and into my throat and breathing became a chore. Is this why they brought me here? Did they know? I felt panicky, like God had sucked the friendliness in the room right out of it. I wanted to go home, where my mom might not teach us about God, and our clothes and car might be older than everyone else, but at least she loved me.

I waited a moment to glance at Tammy and her parents, not wanting them to connect my glance with Pastor Warren’s talk about homosexuals being sinners, about sinners going to hell, about the need to repent our sins. Tammy’s parents were looking at Pastor Warren, nodding in agreement, but they weren’t looking at me. Maybe they didn’t know? I hadn’t told anyone my secret and I certainly never acted on my secret crushes on girls. I never told anyone and I never planned on telling anyone. How could Tammy’s parents know? But they brought me here, so they must know!

The memory ends there, as if my mind snapped shut before allowing another moment of the overwhelming shame I had felt. I hated myself in that moment, and I was fairly certain that God, who I had finally met, did NOT love me. Pastor Warren’s Bible said so.

Through my life I would experience the same judgment about my sexual orientation from countless sources, usually quoting this verse of the Old Testament: _________________________________________________________

            If a man also lie with mankind, as he lieth with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination: they shall surely be put to death; their blood shall be upon them. – Leviticus 20:13 (KJV)

_________________________________________________________

Some years ago, in a later life I call adulthood, I came to the realization that Pastor Warren’s God was not the God of all humanity, and was certainly not my God. After spending that earlier lifetime feeling that I was a sinner for being gay, I came to believe in a God who DID love me. I came to believe that there are infinite paths to God. I came to believe that religions could be beautiful, wondrous phenomena that bring love and goodness into the world, or hateful, exclusive diseases that spread fear and anger, violence and war.

This belief was recently proven to me once again. My future father-in-law Tom and his wife Sue are members of the Temple United Methodist Church in San Francisco. I had been participating in TUM’s Sunday book study for about a year and thoroughly enjoying it.  A retired physician who grew up in rural Kentucky led the small group and I was continuously amazed at the progressive and liberal attitude the members of the group brought to the discussions. They were smart, educated and open-minded, and I soaked up their wisdom and conversation.

Tom shared with some family members that the Methodist Church was having a special conference on February 26, 2019 to vote on the issue of inclusion of LGBTQ clergy and allowing Methodist clergy to perform LGBTQ marriages. While Cynthia was livid that the liberty and justice that our country promises to us was once again up for a vote, I found solace in TMU. They, like the majority of Methodist churches in the United States, are staunchly in favor of LGBTQ inclusion. The Western Conference of the United Methodist Church has an openly gay bishop. TMU’s own Pastor Kelley O’Connor told me and Cynthia that she would risk defrocking to officiate our June 2020 wedding, and the Bishop of the California-Nevada Conference of Methodist Churches is leading the resistance to the far-right Methodist churches in the middle of the country who have led the Methodist churches of Asia and Africa to an anti-LGBTQ vote of exclusion.

My twelve-year-old self expects anti-gay bias in church. That was her first remembered experience of Christianity. But my fifty-three year old self seeks a different Christian experience. She seeks out people like her future parents-in-law, who didn’t see her sexual orientation when they welcomed her into their family; they just saw the love between her and their daughter. My fifty-three year old self seeks a community of Christians like those found at the recent Why Christian conference: affirming, welcoming, social-justice seeking Christians who believe in an all-loving God and live the commandment to love your neighbor as yourself. My fifty-three year old self seeks churches like Temple United Methodist, full of warm, loving congregants whose smiles radiate God’s love. My fifty-three year old self seeks the company of Christians like her future daughter-in-law, who do not see being LGBTQ and Christian as mutually exclusive identities. My fifty-three year old self seeks Christian experiences of belonging, and inclusion, and acceptance, and love. Her twelve-year-old self deserves nothing less.

#YearTwoChristianity

Author’s Note: As I was about to post this essay, I received word of the passing today of Rachel Held Evans at the tragically young age of 37. Rachel and friends formed the Why Christian conference to open Christianity to people like me: seekers looking for belonging in their path of worship. My heart is heavy. I dedicate this essay to you, Rachel, in eternal gratitude for creating a welcoming and inclusive space for Christian and non-Christian seekers alike. May you rest in peace and may your books, essays and posts continue to provide inspiration to seekers, and solace to all who love you.